


Sincerely, Your Friends on the Ice

by Skittlethrill



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bill isn't as uh oh sisters, Canadian-inspired AU, Hockey player x figure skater, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Locker Room Talk, M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25655299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skittlethrill/pseuds/Skittlethrill
Summary: Bill's never been in the arena this late. The sound of ice skates sliding against the ice is almost music to his ears, but it's different. There on the rink is a lone young man, twirling around and dancing to the music pumped into his ears through two small earbuds that almost look like they're going to fall off.It's hypnotic.
Relationships: Kieran Duffy/Bill Williamson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 41





	1. give me something that's vaguely sentimental (i won't fight it)

“Good work today, fellas.” Dutch says, from behind the wall. “Bill, a word please?”

A bunch of ‘oohs’ roars through the team as Hosea opens the door for them to go through to exit the rink. Bill always hates it when Dutch specifically calls him out. Why couldn’t it be someone else for once? Sean laughs, Javier’s cool as always, Arthur, Micah, Lenny all the others filing out. He should be with them.

“Bill.” Dutch says, snapping him back to the coach. “Son, I know hockey isn’t exactly something you’re used to, but...you’ve been clunky as of late.”

“...Clunky?” Bill echoes.

The coach nods, stroking his moustache. Bill’s never seen him without it, and the thought of Dutch clean-shaven horrifies him. “Yes, Bill. Hockey’s not wrestling on ice. There’s part of it that’s graceful, parts that are rough.”

He’s being poetic again, trying to trance Bill into taking his words to heart. Frankly, Bill isn’t buying it - not this time. Graceful and Bill Williamson aren’t words that go together.

“Right now, you’re all rough. You have anger, son, and rightfully so. But all of that on the ice? That’s gonna get you a red card more often than not. And I don’t want my team associated with that.”

So it * _was_ * about ramming Arthur into the board. 

“Ramming someone into the barrier’s fine and all, but you’re like a tank that runs down anyone. That has consequences if you end up severely hurting someone.”

That’s what helmets were for, anyways, and all the protective gear they wore. This was the point where Dutch was starting to lose track of what he was saying, until he simply sent Bill back to the changing room. 

“Rough day, eh, Bill?” Sean asked. Everyone had mostly finished changing, so Sean was packing his helmet back into his duffel bag, voice muffled by the grey sweater halfway over his body.

“Not as rough as the beating you gave me.” From behind was Arthur himself, giving Bill a pat on the back. Bill didn’t like how patronizing this was getting, he never did. “No hard feelin’s. Rival team, though. Hm.”

“Oh, jest shut up.” Bill grumbled as he took the seat on the bench, working on getting his skates off.

From across the changing room, Micah scoffed. “Oh, please. We’re already down one guy. We’re gonna lose another because  _ Marion _ likes men too much to keep his hands to himself.”

“I said to shut up!” Bill stands, a bit tilted seeing as only one skate is off. 

“There it is! That boiling rage! What’re ya gonna do, smash me into the boards like you love to do with Arthur?”

“Oh my god, Micah.” One of the Callendar brothers says, from behind the partition in the next room over. Bill can’t tell them apart by voice. “Bill said to shut up, can’t you keep quiet for once?”

“No.”

That no is just so infuriating, but Bill can’t do anything to take care of Micah’s smirk. After all, Dutch liked him better, he always played favourites. Right now it’s between Arthur and Micah trying to see who can be captain this season. Instead, he sits back down and undoes his skate, goes through the process of taking off his gear. By the time he’s back in his clothes, everyone’s gone. John’s usually the last one - he’s the only one who actually uses the showers, but Dutch’s talk has left him drained.

He can help it, right? The answer, frankly, is no. Bill knows every time he goes on the ice he might as well be a bull in a china shop. He doesn’t think, all he focuses on is the puck and getting it in the net and it’s just so infuriating when someone plays keep-away that he just. Sees. Red.

It’s worse when he’s practicing against everyone else because Bill’s just the worst. The university was looking for the best hockey players, and yet here Bill Williamson was, barely squeezed in because eleven people made the cut and the twelfth guy dropped and Bill showed “promise”.

Arthur, John, Lenny, Sean, Micah, Charles, Mac, Davey, Javier, Cleet, Joe, and here was Marion “Bill” Williamson. Too insecure about his own name, too dumb to know hockey strategy, too big for the rival team to be around safe so he’s gonna be benched for the whole season-

He shook his head. Thinking like that wasn’t going to help. Not in his case, not if he wanted to prove Micah wrong. He picked up his flannel jacket, putting it on before slinging his bag over his shoulder and pulling the door to the changeroom open, taking his cap out of the bag and almost slapping it onto his head.

He’d...never been in the arena this late before.

The sound of ice skates on the ice is almost music to his ears, but no one’s supposed to be on the rink at this point. Hosea should be manning the Zamboni or something at this point. Without thinking, his boots walk towards the rink, going past the bleachers and to the glass barrier that separates him from the ice.

Why did he try out for the hockey team in the first place? Was it because his father told him sports made a man of himself? Was it just to fit in with people he didn’t understand because he headed to the military out of high school and didn’t know what to do after? Was it because everyone expected the redneck from the backwoods to be a hockey fanatic when all he knew was from watching the television in the bar?

There’s a young man on the ice, wearing a white cotton shirt and black pants, with slightly long black hair and a scruffy beard, skating along, waving his arms, curling them in close to himself as he spins, holds them out as he gracefully slides along, almost like he’s a bird and yet something just feels wrong about the performance. 

A figure skater, dancing alone on the ice.

(He tries to ignore Arthur rolling his eyes when the ice rink closed on one of their off-practice days when one of the figure skaters booked it ahead of time to practice, the disappointment on Charles’ face because that was going to be his first time playing hockey in forever, how the next practice Sean mocked a figure skater trying to pirouette and ended up falling flat on his butt. Things they’ve forgotten but Bill doesn’t.)

It’s not the lack of music. Whoever’s skating on the ice, he has earbuds in, and that’s music enough, but he doesn’t feel...open. Was his back always hunched over? Does he always hide his face, or is Bill on the wrong angle for watching this?

And yet, it’s hypnotizing just watching whoever this young man is, twirling around and landing on one foot like it’s nothing, just gliding and flying and almost cutting through ice like it’s butter. So smooth. Bill would commit murder to be half as graceful as he is.

“Bill?” The hockey player turns around, almost startled, and Hosea holds his hands up. “Easy. I, uh. Overheard you and Dutch talking. Look, you’ll get it, I know you will. Just gotta put your practice in and it’ll come naturally.”

That’s  _ exactly _ what Bill wants to hear, yes, another reminder of how lucky he was to be waitlisted.

“You usually don’t stay this late.” Hosea continues, looking at his watch. “Reckon it’s getting dark.”

“Who’s that? On the ice?” Bill’s eyes have never left the figure skater as he disappears from view on the other side of the rink.

“Oh, him?” The rink manager looks to the young man as well. “That’s Kieran Duffy. He always takes the ice after you guys finish so he can practice. He’s supposed to go after I clean the ice but he always says he doesn’t mind. I’m not complaining, less...”

Bill’s tuned half of what Hosea said as he walks to the barrier, resting his arms on the little ledge there. “Kieran.” He echoes.

Kieran’s actually kind of cute.

* * *

Kieran’s never minded the fact that he’s the only boy on the figure skating team. He tried out for hockey once, but got overshadowed by anyone good at slamming people against barriers. He’s better off dancing to entertain people than scoring goals. He never was that type of athletic person anyways.

But Miss Grimshaw, the Head Coach, isn’t happy with him. He can tell by the tone of her voice when she says he needs a bit more work and then he’ll have a “good chance at the podium”. 

There he is, skating his heart out to shake all the stress of exams and assignments off of his back, music pumping through his earbuds, when he stops to drink from the water bottle he left on the ledge. It’s his favourite, a plastic blue bottle with a horse sticker on it.

Across from the rink, he sees someone watching him. Someone watching him that’s not Hosea. It’s someone younger - well, anyone’s young compared to Hosea - at best he looks 40, but it’s probably the beard. Beards always make people look older. He guesses he’s about a year older than him. Maybe two.

He takes a drink of water, relishing the cool fluid as it enters him. Maybe he’s just staff. Maybe it’s a passerby. Maybe it’s one of the hockey players that just stayed late if the duffel bag’s a clue.

He seems nice, rather handsome, but knowing most hockey players it’s just wishful thinking. Still. He grabs his phone, scrolling through the playlist until he finds that one song he wants to dance to, that he’s done nothing but listen to on repeat for the past two days. He restarts it once more for good measure before he skates again.

Kieran’s all too happy to be a friend of a friend.


	2. let's be friends (then, never speak again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys really wanted a Chapter 2, so here it is!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys wanted a chapter 2, so here it is! Might play around with a few story elements but ultimately Bill and Kieran are going to be a thing...eventually. Please leave a comment I love getting them from you guys <3

The strange man starts watching Kieran more and more. It’s...sort of endearing. That at least someone is watching him, that someone’s finally paying attention to him for once. But even with the added audience it still doesn’t feel like he’s improving much.

He’s sure he’s seen him somewhere before, but Kieran doesn’t exactly have the time to do research on the stranger watching him when he needed to do research for papers and assignments that never ended. But there is someone who knows all the regulars of the rink, and that’s Hosea.

Kieran likes Hosea - maybe a little too much. Almost like a father. Soft-spoken but puts his foot down. Maybe a little hard around the edges but whenever Kieran needs to take a break and a drink, sometimes Hosea will sit down and drink with him.

“Who is he?” Kieran asks one day as he exits the changing room, Hosea having finished cleaning the rink. “The guy that watches me.”

“Him? That’s Bill Williamson. Hockey team. Why?”

“Oh, I just see him watching me sometimes.”

Hosea nods as he closes the door to where the Zamboni now rested. “Can’t blame him. You’re a pretty talented dancer, Kieran.” 

Kieran just blushes and nods, mumbles something he can’t even comprehend before taking his leave - best to not disturb Hosea at work, managing a small wave. At home, he briefly pushes assignments and studying away for a little detour on the university site. _Heartlands University_ , the site reads, followed by a few subheadings. Kieran clicks on _Student Life_ , then _Athletics_ , and then looks for the men’s hockey team.

The Heartland Riders, the name universal throughout any sports team competing for their university, looked rather fierce. Already, headshots had been uploaded by some photographer named Albert Mason, depicting _Sean MacGuire_ and _Arthur Morgan_ and _Charles Smith_. No one in his program - yet. Sean and Lenny shared his year. They all seemed so intimidating, but maybe that was all the gear they had on.

He finds Bill at the bottom of the site, and he looks rather rugged and ten times more fearsome, even when he’s just a photo. _Marion “Bill” Williamson_ . Next to his name is _2A, Environmental Studies_ and _212 lbs, 6’3._

Bill could crush Kieran in a heartbeat if he wanted to, and then bury him in the woods.

Kieran reaches for his phone next. Maybe Bill had something on social media. First he searches up for “Marion Williamson”, but not many results show up outside of the university page, an article with his name mentioned in it once from what was probably his hometown, and other people named who share his name.

...This was really creepy, wasn’t it? Kieran was searching up someone he barely knew all because he watched his skating practice.

He searches up “Bill Williamson” and many more results pop up, and a profile picture at that. And Kieran takes a deep dive. He really was being a cyber stalker, wasn’t he? But it was fine, he knew people in Environmental Studies, what’s to say the app recommended Bill and he got curious?

But Bill isn’t very active on social media - Kieran isn’t, but at least Kieran put efforts to make his photos look appealing. Bill’s are somewhat blurry, out of frame, one unappealing selfie he took a while back. They’re mostly pictures of nature. He tries another app, but all Bill does is share animal pictures and boring old memes and links to articles about trivial things and never says anything. Well, anything meaningful, seeing his last tweet was the letter “b”, done at 3 am last year-

Why was he doing this? Kieran exits the app and turns his phone over. He...well, why was he paying attention to Bill so much? He knew Bill’s type. He was a hockey player, he was probably straight. Hell, Bill was definitely the type of guy who would make fun of him in high school. Hell, everyone at the rink knew the figure skaters and the hockey players were at odds, anyways.

God, this was so sad. But just before Kieran closes the tab and focuses on his work, he does one more search, one more chance to see Bill in action, maybe. After all, Bill’s been looking at him dance, he might as well return the favour.

* * *

Bill is halfway through the millionth skating drill and is about to take a drink of water when Javier nudges him. “Hey,” He says, pointing to someone at the end of the rink. “You know who that is?”

He squints, and sees Kieran Duffy, the young man who he’s seen dance for four practices now, at the rink. What was he doing here? Practice wouldn’t be over for another half hour, unless he was early. “No.” He says, because it’s true. “Plenty of people drop by here.”

Sean comes up from behind him, the telltale scrape of his skates against the ice enough alert to Bill. “What’re you guys talking about?”

“That guy over there seems kinda sus. Haven’t seen him around before.” Javier explains as he points to Kieran, who is on his phone right now. 

“Think he’s a spy?” Sean asks. “Hey, maybe we should scare him off.”

“...And y’all think I’m the dumb one? You can’t access the rink without a Student ID card.” Bill says. “He ain’t a spy, he’s probably some kid who wandered in here to watch us play.”

“There’s a game against Saint Denis coming up soon, and I heard they were paying students to watch their teams and point out the weakest link, so they can focus on them..” Sean leans against the boards, stretching his arms. “That’s what happened last year, they targeted one of the other first years and we lost. Couldn’t prove anything.”

“ _Jesus_.” Bill looks at Kieran. Come to think of it, he does look like a little rat. He wouldn’t put it past him to sell them out, seeing as the figure skaters and hockey team was always butting heads for control of the rink. “And you’re not sure he ain’t some fan, because…?”

“I thought so too, Bill, but...I’ve been watching him for a bit and he’s only focusing on one guy.” Javier winces, obviously preparing himself for what he’s about to say. Bill can already tell it’s not going to be pretty. He doesn’t like where this is going at all. 

“Bill. He’s been looking at _you_.”

It really stuck with him.

Bill couldn’t shake it, how Javier said it. ‘He’s been looking at _you_ ’, like it was supposed to prove something, and...it did.

Bill was, objectively, the strongest and the weakest of the team. Prone to anger. Strategy went over his head. A monster to go against but one wrong move on his part and his team went down with him. How far-fetched it was to assume how any of them had fans, let alone _Bill_ of all people when he just joined. Arthur, John, they were on for longer, they had fans, but Bill? Who was he? Never heard of him. He stands there as Sean and Javier discuss how to scare him off, and then Arthur joins, just thinking of how right Javier was and why he was still denying it even though he was right and his head was getting fuzzy and-

“Bill.” Arthur snaps his fingers. “You there?”

“Wh- yeah, yeah.” Bill is about to rub his neck and run his fingers through his hair out of sheepishness, like he usually does when he needs to focus, but the helmet blocks that. “What’s going on?”

He sighs as he puts his glove back on, another telltale sign that Bill maybe was a little dumb for his own good. “Slam me into the barrier next to the kid during practice. Scare him a little. Wanna see the look on his face. If he's a spy, we'll scare him off, if he ain't, he'll just get spooked and that's on him.”

"...Uh, Arthur, you just asked Bill to body slam you. That's basically a death sentence." Javier chuckles. "Don't worry, I'll stop by to visit you in the hospital."

"And I'll bring flowers!" Sean butts his elbow into Bill's rib - it doesn't feel like anything, seeing as they're all padded up. "And you better too! Make it up for our punching bag!"

Dutch blows the whistle, and Bill knows what to do. It’s...surprisingly not easy to angry at Arthur, suddenly, now that Arthur told him exactly to get angry. In fact, he actually feels...calm. He makes a good play or two. This was probably the most strategic game he's played by far. But soon enough Arthur snatches the puck from him when he was about to pass it to Charles and Bill takes the bait and goes right for him. Arthur skates towards Kieran’s spot on the bleachers, raising his stick and just about to pass it to Lenny when Bill barrels him and slams him against the board...all too well. Arthur’s head conks against the glass, but his helmet softens the blow. Bill looks to Kieran and he’s flinched, looking positively frightened, and he’s positive he heard a squeak. Arthur gets up just in time to see Kieran’s face and chuckles. Javier and Sean have joined in on the pile, and John isn't too far off.

Dutch blows the whistle. “Bill!” He shouts, from the other side of the arena. “I told you to stop ramming Arthur into the barrier!”

“Sorry!” Bill calls back, but he's not really sorry. 

In the changing room, everyone’s in a bit of a higher spirit. News of scaring the supposed traitor has reached everyone on the team, and they’ve exchanged ragging on Bill for praising him for “getting that spy”, but Bill just...sits there.

...Kieran was waiting for the rink to clear up before he could practice, wasn’t he? But then again, Bill hardly knew the guy. And to be honest, he kinda...felt bad. So despite all the laughs about how Kieran jumped 5 feet and looked like someone had told him he was about to die, he didn’t really say too much until everyone had left, except for John.

“Hey, Williamson.” He said as he picked his bag up. “You heard Smith and Morgan makin’ plans. You comin’ to the diner or not?”

Bill’s stomach definitely felt like it was running on empty, and it was tempting to join them, but…

“In a bit.” He said as he packed away everything, zipping up the duffel bag. “Just need to take care of somethin’ first.”

John nods and leaves Bill be, and once Bill’s ready he stands up, slaps the hat on and pushes the door. The rink is empty. No one is dancing on the rink. Hosea is gone, it’s empty. John’s long on the way to the diner the team usually frequents. 

...Maybe they scared Kieran a little too well.

The door next to him opens - it’s a washroom meant for other people who watch, and Kieran steps out, nervously surveying the rest of the area. His skates are on as he hobbles towards the rink, and he stops as he sees Bill.

“O-oh, I-I’m sorry.” He stammers, backing up. “I, uh...Hosea said I could use the rink after you guys, but if you’re not done I can just leave-”

“No.” Bill says, his voice softer than it usually is. “I-It’s fine. I, uh...I’m sorry. For spookin’ ya. Thought you were rattin' on us for Denis.”

He stiffens at that, Kieran, his eyes shut as he shakes his head. "Wh-what? No! I wouldn't-I wouldn't do that! I wouldn't do that at all!" He darts his eyes up at Bill, and then looks back down at the floor. Almost like a kid being scolded by a teacher.

"Shit, I already know you wouldn't. SD wouldn't think of you, that's for sure. ."

“Oh. Okay.” Kieran still stands there, pressing his fingers together, looking away. “...I always see you watchin’ me.”

Bill rubs the back of his neck. “You’re always skating by the time I leave the changeroom...I mean, if I’m kinda makin’ you uncomfortable, I can stop-”

“No, i-it’s fine. I, uh, like it when people watch me.” Kieran manages a weak smile as he heads towards the rink. “...Do you like watching me? Like, do you think my skating’s nice?”

He reaches deep into his mind to truly find the answer. Does he like watching Kieran? Isn’t it hypnotic how he moves on the ice? Isn’t it wonderful how graceful he is? And isn’t it jarring to feel like something’s missing?

“...It’s fine.” He says. “...Keep working on it.”

It’s not the answer Kieran was looking for, judging by how his face almost fell, but Bill was no expert. What did he expect, Bill was secretly a figure skating pro who abandoned his craft? Who the hell was this kid? Speaking with him felt so..aggravating, but he didn’t know why. How nervy he was, how he stuttered...well, his teammates were like that, too, at least. So why him?

It wasn’t until Kieran stepped onto the ice that he realized he never got a good look at his face.

**Author's Note:**

> A University AU where Bill is a hockey player and Kieran is a figure skater. A one-shot for now but maybe if it gets enough attention I might continue it. I appreciate comments a lot!


End file.
